Round four.
Geld versus Lion-Mask—the fight I had been personally anticipating.
"Kukuku, finally! I get to enjoy a true, all-out brawl!"
Lion-Mask's voice rang with unrestrained excitement.
"I never expected to stand against such a formidable warrior," Geld said, his tone respectful yet resolute. "It is my honor. Allow me to fight with all my strength." He removed the armor from his upper body and raised his fists.
"Ho! You'll face me barehanded, huh? Very well—I excel in unarmed combat."
Lion-Mask's grin was feral as he stepped forward.
The stage became a tempest of power. Fists collided, and each strike sent shockwaves rippling through the arena, stirring whirlwinds of dust. Geld fought with precise grapples and punishing punches, sliding his feet for balance as he absorbed Lion-Mask's blows without faltering. His stance was a fortress; his fists were weapons of destruction.
Every movement was calculated. The lower body generated momentum for devastating strikes, while his shoulders and elbows combined in brutal throws. Geld's style was relentless, like a siege engine on two legs.
Lion-Mask countered with unparalleled versatility. His attacks flowed like water, striking from every angle, blending brute force and tactical finesse. His magicule control gave him a clear advantage —yet Geld's defense proved extraordinary. Even a crescent kick capable of shattering stone met only the immovable wall of Geld's guard.
"You're strong!" Lion-Mask exclaimed, a trace of admiration in his ferocity. "But your defenses leave little opening!"
Geld nodded with a wry grin. "You underestimate me if you think this is all I can do."
Their battle escalated, a blur of fists, kicks, and shattering force. Roundhouse kicks, axe kicks, punches from every angle—the clash of their abilities dazzled the spectators. The arena erupted with roars of excitement.
"S-so strong…!"
"This is insane!" someone shouted, nearly dropping a handful of fries in shock.
Both fighters had become stars in the eyes of the audience. Geld's calculated, tank-like style contrasted with Lion-Mask's overwhelming offensive prowess. The duel pushed their limits as they continued for thirty grueling minutes, neither yielding.
I observed silently, my aura radiating authority over the arena. I did not intervene. I allowed them to fight to their fullest—Atem did not need to cheat or step in. The clash of warriors was itself a test of resolve, a demonstration of raw power and will.
Another twenty minutes passed, sweat and blood flying, yet the stalemate persisted. Finally, Geld spoke, his voice calm but commanding.
"I did not expect you to endure this long… you have my respect."
"Hah… it is my honor to receive praise from a great warrior such as yourself," Lion-Mask responded, bowing slightly in acknowledgment.
"Spare the formality. Tell me—why have you refrained from using any Skills?"
"Why? There is no need. You have not revealed your true form, either, Your Majesty."
I stepped slightly forward, the commanding presence of Atem radiating from me. My voice carried over the arena, low and authoritative.
"Heh… so you plan to win this battle relying only on raw skill? Interesting. Very well. Then you shall witness the true extent of my power."
The duel intensified, and the air itself seemed to shiver under the force of their blows. The audience could feel it: this was not a mere contest of strength, but a display worthy of kings.
They conversed while maintaining unyielding attacks and defenses. The general audience could not hear a word, but through Diablo's ears, I caught their entire exchange clearly.
I had been wondering why Geld hadn't used any Skills this whole time—now I understood. In the heat of battle, Geld sought to prove his strength while restrained, matching the conditions under which Lion-Mask fought.
Lion-Mask—whose true name was Karion—could have unleashed his full might through Beastilization, but the disguise constrained him. He could not—or would not—fight with his full heart.
Geld knew this, which is why he refrained from using his Unique Skills, relying solely on his body.
Guardian, Gourmet—all left untouched, the fight fought purely with strength and technique. Perhaps another reason was secrecy; Geld had no desire to reveal the extent of his power to the crowd. A certain anonymous message had hinted the same caution. Karion, it seemed, had agreed to conceal his true strength, ensuring his real identity remained hidden.
Yet, even under restraint, Karion was no ordinary opponent. His power already surpassed even the strongest greater spirits. An ordinary monster or majin could not hope to match him.
Then, as if to grant the audience a glimpse of his true ability, Karion readied his strike.
"Prepare yourself!"
"Aye!"
A flood of golden youki surged around Karion's right fist, radiating raw destructive energy. It moved with blinding speed, leaving afterimages that pierced through both of Geld's arms. The force alone was staggering.
Geld's hands were torn apart, leaving his body wide open. Karion's right fist drove straight toward his chest, aiming for one of his vital points. The shockwave of the strike coursed through Geld's body, a torrent of sheer destructive force.
"Impressive… seems I've reached my limit," Geld wheezed, staggering but refusing to collapse. He teetered toward the edge of the arena, determined to endure. Diablo stepped forward, offering support while signaling Souka with a sharp glance.
"The match is over! Contestant Lion-Mask—has won!"
The Colosseum erupted. Thunderous cheers and deafening applause filled every corner. The crowd could not hide their admiration; this duel had been nothing short of spectacular.
"That move was called the Roaring Lion Punch. You should be proud, Geld. You not only survived one of my ultimate strikes but remained on your feet and kept moving."
"He… hehehe… I hope one day I can face you in earnest," Geld said, his exhaustion tempered by respect.
"Just as I thought. It's been far too long since I've faced a fight like this," Karion replied, his voice calm yet imbued with authority.
Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, the arena was silent. In that gaze, I saw mutual acknowledgment—two warriors recognizing each other's skill and spirit. Though they had fought within constraints, the duel had been genuine, a rare and precious clash of equals.
Had either been unrestricted, had they unleashed their full repertoire, the outcome might have differed. But today, it was Karion's victory, Geld's defeat.
Even so, I found no reason to withhold praise. Geld had given his all; the crowd's thunderous applause was proof enough. The match had been magnificent, a duel worthy of being remembered.
I stood alongside the audience, joining in the ovation as Geld made his way off the stage. My presence commanded respect, yet even in my authority, I allowed the moment to honor the strength and spirit of those who had fought.
All four matches had ended, and it was finally time for the intermission. When the midday break was over, the tournament would resume with the second round.
The winners of the first round would now face each other. Yet, the exhaustion from their earlier fights would likely tip the balance. Even with the healing potions we had distributed, those could only restore the body—not the magicule reserves that fueled their strength. Judging one's true condition by appearance alone would be a mistake.
The crowd, still buzzing from the earlier fights, leaned forward in anticipation as the fifth match of the day began. On the center stage, the so-called "Chosen Hero," Masayuki, was about to face Gozer—the victor would earn the right to participate in the final.
It was time to see whether this "hero" truly lived up to his title.
From where I stood, I could tell Masayuki's legs were trembling. Was that battle excitement—or plain fear? His neck glistened with sweat. There was something about his posture that screamed unease. Strong as Hinata? Hardly. No matter how I looked at him, he didn't possess the aura of someone of her caliber.
As I observed quietly, Gozer raised a microphone to his mouth. His voice, deep and sharp, carried across the arena.
"So, you're the so-called 'Chosen Hero' who thinks he can challenge His Majesty Atem? How ignorant. How arrogant. Truly pathetic."
A taunt—meant to provoke.
But Masayuki only smiled, though it was forced—the corner of his mouth twitching under pressure. Without replying, he gestured toward Souka for the microphone. She hesitated, then handed it to him.
Masayuki spoke calmly.
"Heh, you fought pretty well."
Gozer blinked. "S-so?"
To my surprise, Masayuki's tone wasn't mocking. He actually sounded… polite. Mature, even.
"But," he continued, voice steady, "it's truly regretful."
Gozer frowned. "Regretful? What's regretful?"
Masayuki raised his head, eyes faintly narrowing. "Had you been in your best condition, I would've wanted to fight you seriously. But after your match just now… you've spent most of your strength, haven't you? That's a shame."
The audience murmured. Before the fight even began, he was already saying he wouldn't fight seriously. His tone was sincere, but I could feel the calculation behind it.
Gozer's brows furrowed. "What are you trying to say?"
Masayuki gave a faint shrug. "Nothing much. Only that even if I won against you now, I wouldn't be satisfied."
"…," Gozer remained silent, unsure how to respond.
Masayuki tilted his head slightly, feigning thought. "I heard something about you. That His Majesty Atem appointed you as one of the labyrinth's guardians. You didn't seem too pleased with that, preferring to join the 'Four Heavenly Kings' instead."
Gozer's voice rose. "That's not true at all! His Majesty assigned Mezer and me as the bosses of level fifty within the labyrinth. It was an honor! We only wished to challenge ourselves further, that's all!"
Masayuki smirked. "Really? Odd. Because from what I've seen, that man, Geld, seemed more fitting for such a title."
"That's—uhhh…" Gozer stammered.
Masayuki praised him, only to twist the knife a second later. Clever. Manipulative.
What's this game he's playing?
He pressed on. "If we fought now, I'd likely win. But if I fought you at your peak—well, that's another story. You might even have the upper hand, especially in the labyrinth. That's why I feel winning here would be meaningless."
"Ehhh?" Gozer blinked, bewildered.
Oh no, I thought. He's trying to talk his way out of the fight entirely.
Masayuki smiled faintly, voice lowering. "I intend to challenge the labyrinth myself soon. But that's another matter. How about this—let's postpone our fight until then? When you're fully recovered, and we can face each other at our best."
…What a smooth talker. His tone held confidence, yet everything about his body language screamed nervousness. Still, his words were persuasive.
Gozer stared at him in silence for several seconds—then suddenly burst into laughter.
"Ku, kuu-hahaha! So that's how it is. You read me well, hero. I won't deny it—right now, I'm running on fumes. My fight with Mezer was a close call. Fine then! I'll take your word for it and await you in the labyrinth!"
What—?!
He actually agreed!
The crowd erupted as the two men shook hands with solemn expressions. The audience, not fully grasping what just happened, cheered wildly anyway, mistaking diplomacy for dominance.
From where I stood, I couldn't help but smirk. Masayuki had bluffed his way through yet another battle without even lifting a blade. The tension eased from the crowd, but my eyes lingered on him a little longer.
So that's the kind of man you are, I thought. A hero who wins without fighting.